Shadows on the Wall
by Fionn Fael
Summary: Everyone has hidden thoughts, skeletons in the closet, words left unsaid. Brief glimpses into the lives and minds of various Death Note characters, told through vignettes and poetry.
1. Deus ex Machina

_Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note._

**Author's Note: **This is a new project of mine. I was startled to notice how much Death Note affected my poetry after I became engrossed in the series, and decided to compile the pieces written about (or that can be construed as pertaining to) DN and/or its characters. Hope this turns out all right.

L is up first. (Shock and awe.)

_deus ex machina_ - god in the machine: in fiction, an improbable character or unconvincing event used to resolve a plot.

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* * *

**Deus ex Machina**

A lonely light in the late night or early morning shines with luminous luster.

The glow, in the boy, is reflected

Like an angelic presence,

A god in the machine,

In the empty eyes that swallow up all.

Twin black holes, with depth as oblivion

.

What do they see? What do they wish?

.

None is known out, while all is known in.

The dark scars of sleeplessness are nooses hanging from vacant gallows.

Hiding humanity behind ethic and excellence, endless effort into everything acted.

An image projected

A man cold and detached

While a lonesome child waits behind a pale and flimsy shroud.


	2. Somnolus

_Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note._

**A/N: **Another L poem. It's safe to expect more in the future, as well. These are added in the order they were written, and the first two just happen to concern L. (It has nothing to do with the fact that he's my favorite. No, never.)

_somnolus - _I'll be honest--it's not a real word. But it's meant to be derived from various words for sleep.

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* * *

**Somnolus**

Dark curtains flutter like butterfly wings stapled to a windswept wall,

Lit by artificial air in this sterile environ

As he tries in vain to sleep once again.

.

Tossing and turning brings no relief

Like a sick creature in death throes

.

A padded cell of sorts, white walls and tiles

No carpet, he'd said, I don't get cold feet.

Stark and sparse as a hospice,

With light switch dusty, disused

.

This is no place to call home.

.

This floor is no bed

And yet softer shelter would bring no more peace

He knows.

.

And so he arises

With no newfound knowledge

Sitting once more in this darkness alone

And musing internally

That of all of his work,

_Sleep_ is his life's only seed gone unsown.


	3. False Idol

_Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note._

**A/N: **This one was not originally written for DN, but I think it fits well. ...Though I could be horribly mistaken, in which case I plead for your forgiveness.

This could be interpreted as being from Misa or Mikami's point of view (if either ever grew bitter toward Kira). But I believe it better suits Mello, with his hero-worship and failed attempts to surpass L. Take it however you want.

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* * *

**False Idol**

I would bow and scrape as you walked past

Worshiping the filth beneath your feet

The trampled earth and blackened mud

Caked on the hollow soles of your shoes

Was holy to me

You glowed silver, gold, gleaming in the dark

Haloed by a shining sheath of light

In my eyes

You could do no wrong.

.

I followed you

As devout as any faithful disciple

As any brainwashed devotee

A lowly lackey in a cult of cupidity

.

But unlike you

Always so unlike you,

My false, faulty idol

I was deity to no man.


	4. Flavor

_Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note._

**A/N: **I swear I'll get to drabbles and out of poetry, eventually.

This one was not originally written for DN, but reminds me of Matt and Mello's relationship. It can be taken as being from either of their perspectives, and addressing the other.

. - stanza breaks

* * *

**Flavor**

A sore-filled mouth, red and aching

Hard palate like a wall of bony ribs,

or a red dirt road, washed-out after a rain

Lips cracked and swollen

Teeth with strange coating,

like itchy wool sweaters

These are my trophies of time spent with you

.

You wear another's scent

It suits you ill.

Raw flames lick our faces,

Smoke tickles my nose

The mixed stenches and tastes

of tar, ash and sweet mint

Dredge up memories proudly suppressed

A weak reminder masked with a stronger one

You wear another's scent

It suits you ill.

And I blame only myself.


End file.
